In an interview before he died, songwriter John Prine described his old age, his daily life, his relationships with others.

“I’m good at hiding,” he said, laughing.

He meant hiding from loved ones, from professional obligations. He meant slipping away for chunks of the day to do nothing much at all.

I liked the breezy, self-effacing way Prine copped to an activity I myself often feel guilty about.

Of course it helps to be a world-famous songwriter. Who in the world is going to object to more free time for the man who wrote “Angel from Montgomery?”

I guess the people who might have objected were some of the people Prine loved the most — family, friends, fellow musicians. But there’s a time when the needs of self take precedence over responsibilities to others.

Joseph Campbell, the expert on mythology, was a big advocate of ‘wandering around,’ bumping into the stuff of life, following one’s internal guide toward people, places, or ideas which might bring happiness or fulfillment.

There’s a limit, of course. If you are taking care of young children or an elderly parent, if you are trying to feed a family, it seems less winning and actualized to go Full Vagabond.

When I was in college, I had a meal with a family friend who was in business school at the same university. He was asking about my long-range plans. Where did I see myself in 10 years? Were there people I could start networking with in college to guide me toward my goals?

The guy meant well. But I was slippery and uncooperative in the goal-setting project. At a certain point he just smiled.

“Wow, you’re really not ambitious,” he said.

A few years later, the grandfather of another friend was quizzing me along similar lines. He wanted to know what I was up to, what kind of work I was doing. I was a newspaper reporter, but he could sense a lack of enthusiasm.

He tried to help me brainstorm about other careers. He did his best, but landed on public relations.

Which seemed less appealing than news reporting.

More recently, a friend generously suggested ways I could expand my online readership. But that’s really the last thing I want. It took me long enough to find my voice. A bunch of new readers would chase the voice away.

Way, way back, I had my voice. One day when I was a toddler, my mom slathered butter onto a dinner roll for me.

Apparently a buttered roll wasn’t something I was interested in. (Sounds pretty awesome to me now.) Without yelling — just in an exasperated, matter-of-fact objection — my 3-year-old self said, ‘Oh goddamn, Mom.’

So I had my voice then anyway. But from early adolescence onward, I didn’t know what was important to me, what I believed in, what lit me up inside, whether for good (music, art, idleness) or for bad (buttered dinner rolls). More and more, I was in the business of doing what others wanted or expected. I was an inveterate people-pleaser.

As an adult, I wrote and self-published three novels. These books were fine, they had snippets of good writing. But there was a reason they were self-published, not regular-published. I wasn’t on fire with something to say. My heart wasn’t open. I didn’t know myself very well.

Things started to change when I got married, and we had kids. That opened my heart and helped me start to find my way again.

Two parts of the Bible resonate for me: Ecclesiastes and the Sermon on the Mount. As a model for behavior, the Sermon on the Mount seems like the mark to aim for. But it’s a mark which we humans usually miss, by a lot.

Plus, to be honest, I’m pretty lazy.

Which is where Ecclesiastes comes in. There’s nothing new under the sun. All is vanity.

Not only do I agree with this depressing bit of wisdom, but it also gives a rock-solid alibi for that part of me which prefers wandering, hiding, not being ambitious — the part which mostly just wants to be left alone.

An astrologer once told me about a past life I supposedly lived. She said I was wrongfully convicted and exiled to an island. She said I suffered years of abuse, even torture. She claimed there was a rupture in my God-consciousness which sort of leaked out and colored the other lifetimes going forward.

Maybe this past-life happened. Who knows? More to the point, who cares? I’m not in exile today. I’m not being beaten mercilessly right now. That’s not nothing. Not everyone can say that. Certainly many thousands of Uighurs can’t.

Before the American writer William Alexander Percy died unexpectedly at 56, he recalled walking one evening through a graveyard in his hometown.

As he enjoyed the twilight and reflected on the lives of the dead, he also reflected on his own life.

One by one I count the failures — at law undistinguished, at teaching unprepared, at soldiering average, at love second-best, at poetry forgotten before remembered — and I acknowledge the deficit. I am not proud, but I am not ashamed. What have defeats and failures to do with the good life? But closer lacks, more troubling doubts assail me. Of all the people I have loved, wisely and unwisely, deeply and passingly, I have loved no one so much as myself. Of all the hours of happiness granted me, none has been so keen and holy as a few unpredictable moments alone.

I recognize myself in those words.

I’ve certainly been selfish enough. I’ve been insensitive to people I care about. In a few key moments, I didn’t offer the basic consideration, sympathy, or honesty which might have eased another’s pain.

It’s okay. I’m not beating myself up. I say it more as a neutral observation, one of the “jackdaw pickings of a secret and curious heart,” to borrow another Percy line.

I was walking with a friend in Los Angeles. We passed a makeshift community bulletin-board. A colony of bees lived at the base of a nearby tree. Apparently, the presence of so many bees had bothered someone enough that he (or she) tried twice to kill the colony, once by stuffing gasoline-soaked rags into the hole, later by packing dirt into it.

These attempts killed some bees, but didn’t eradicate the colony. Handwritten notes, drawings, and poems sprung up. The messages asked the bee killer to knock it off, in light of declining bee populations across the U.S.

As we passed this bulletin board, my friend made a comment about first-world problems in a rich, white neighborhood.

Sure, but also — the pro-bees board seems like a nice example of starting small, starting local.

When I’m feeling down or I don’t particularly know what to do with myself, I stop and try to make the space right around me clean and orderly, even beautiful. To me, the concern for bees comes from the same place. Start small. Make a small place beautiful.

I realized a couple years ago that I was a good candidate for a midlife crisis. My beloved dog Boomer was getting older. My kids would soon leave for college. And with their departure, sayonara to my ready excuse for idleness, hiding, wandering, having no ambition.

Stay-at-home parenting, not public relations, was the right job for me. I mean, I worked hard at it, but I also got plenty of free time, I didn’t have a boss. I didn’t have to go to the office. Plus, it gave me an easy answer when someone asked, “So what do you do?”

Good question!

Actually, horrible question, but yeah — what do I do?

I’m like John Prine, I hide. I also nap. And I listen to an unholy number of podcasts. (The back-to-work résumé practically writes itself.)

A midlife crisis seemed so likely that I didn’t bother trying to avoid it. I just decided to try to do mine on a small scale, in slow motion. Whatever nonsense I got up to, I wanted it to unfold gradually, step by step. To minimize the damage to loved ones, I guess.

When I explained the slow-motion idea to my friend Russell, he said, “Sounds good! Just don’t go to jail!”

I considered this.

“Wait, why not?” I said.

Russell — and this made me happy — said, “Eh. Go to jail.”

Weirdly, going to jail is on my bucket list. As long as I’m locked up for a good reason —protesting against animal cruelty maybe, or U.S. drone strikes, or school shootings, or whatever new type of bullshit our country comes up with next — then sure, I’ll go to jail.

I’m not excited for inmate-on-inmate violence, of course. But at least I would have time on my hands. And no one would ask me what I do. In jail I’m guessing they’d ask what I did.

Maybe the past-life lady was right. Maybe there is a wrongful conviction in my ancient past. People are said to revisit and re-enact past traumas in search of meaning and healing. Maybe I want to be in jail again, but this time on my own terms. (Less torture, shorter stay.)

My midlife-crisis fantasies aren’t the usual ones, like adultery or a fancy car. The main recurring wish — apart from doing time, of course — is to walk into the wilderness and never return. Extreme solitude for the rest of my life.

Fun! Inexpensive! Reduced life expectancy!

I mean, I think my wife and kids would be bummed. But maybe I’m projecting.

In closing, I forget what the point of this essay was. But at least you got a nice random sprinkling of John Prine, Joseph Campbell, William Alexander Percy, and whoever wrote Ecclesiastes.

About Kit Troyer

Kit Troyer lives in Los Angeles. He worked previously as a newspaper reporter and a criminal defense attorney. For the last 15 years, he has been a stay-at-home dad. But that gig is running out. Kids will soon be moving out and moving on.


  1. I read the whole essay, don’t know why, maybe I was hoping for another Rat Adventure! I was not hoping for another cry over Boom. So when people ask you what you are going to do, maybe you should say, “I am going to try to continue to do what I have been doing for most of my life!” I don’t care what you decide to do as long as it makes you happy and write about your adventures so I can laugh at them and live vicariously through them.

  2. Angel From Montgomery, which I love, got me engaged in your essay. OCD got me engaged in my own work life. I sure appreciate now that I am retired the quietude you allude to. I love Ecclesiastes. It speaks to my soul. I don’t t know about your jail idea. Chuck Colson, who only served seven months, said the worst moment of his life was the first time his jail cell doors were closed. I have no bucket list. That is a little too ambitious.

  3. Mary McCormack says:

    Another great read. I fantasize about going to prison too but to plan an elaborate escape. I’m obsessed with prison escapes and always root for the escapee. I’m glad you found your voice again. It’s a pleasure to read.

  4. Sonia Keshishian says:

    “Hello In There “ a great song comes to mind by Prine where your inner being illuminates me once again . Loved loved this . Love you ❤️💜🐝

  5. Ann Coleman says:

    I’m almost embarrassed to say that I can really relate to this post! But I’m not embarrassed to say that I really enjoyed reading it.

  6. I am planning an escape (albeit a temporary one and mostly with kids still in tow… lol). I have always wanted more travel and adventure in my life so decided that’s exactly what I am going to try to do. I hope that where ever your life leads you to next, you enjoy it just as much. Don’t give in to pressure to become something, or someone, your not. That would be sad to see.

  7. Thank-you. 🙂 It is still a bit of a ways off. I turn 40 this winter and have been saving up to make 2022 as much of an adventure as possible. Going to be attempting to see some things on my bucket list, like a hummingbird sanctuary, the northern lights, a centeruries old forest, and the tallest waterfall in North America. Possibly more if I am able. I am a pretty big fan of nature. Lol

  8. I will definitely be writing about the adventures and sharing pictures. ^_^ Brushing up on long forgotten photography skills too in preparation.

  9. Rupali says:

    I enjoy reading your posts.

  10. gregoryjoel says:

    Any writing that starts with talking about John Prine catches my attention! I can relate. I have a volunteer coordinator who’s main job is to keep everybody out of my way. I love getting lost by myself. I’m so glad you’ve put it so eloquently.

  11. usfman says:

    The main passion that I continue to possess as I get older would be my desire to learn. But I’d rather do it like you – nice and easy.

  12. robstroud says:

    “It took me long enough to find my voice. A bunch of new readers would chase the voice away.”

    An intriguing thought. Being aware of the danger, however, you’re forearmed.

    In reality, when you’re comfortable with your voice, the audience makes its own choices, and some only remain with your for a brief season. The others? It seems to me that when people are nourished by your words, the more the merrier.

  13. As a John Prine fan and not all that ambitious myself, at nearly 55 I consider myself a rambler…mostly predawn. It isn’t easy to just be at this tender midlife stage (it feels like middle school again in some ways to me). It takes courage to tell people you don’t do much of anything. When practiced, it gradually gets a little easier, or maybe I’ve quit caring as much anyway. Nice work, keep musing and napping.

  14. I miss you Kit, hope all is well!

  15. Ambition is over-rated. You have a great voice! Write!

  16. “Full vagabond” sounds nice to me 😁

  17. Margaret says:

    Thank you for sharing such a thought provoking post Kitt and for visiting my blog.
    Your reference to ‘making a small place beautiful’ seems quite significant for me at present.
    Take care.

  18. This was even better on the second read. John Prine was exceptional. Hello in There and I Remember Everything resonate with me as much as Angel. They speak directly to the heart. I suspect you know them well. I have been reading Thomas A Kempis’ Imitation of Christ in which the author speaks to me in tones and words I appreciate.

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